Well, kids... unfortunately the Rychkid will be out of town until Friday afternoon, so more than likely there probably won't be an update until sometime Saturday. Again, sorry for the inconvenience.
Until next time...
R
Tuesday, September 20, 2005
Thursday, September 15, 2005
Tuesday, September 13, 2005
Once again... Vegas, baby... Vegas!!!
Ladies and gentlemen... the latest is this; the Vegas trip has been booked. I finally scored a flight tonight for $276. It gets me into Vegas around 10AM on Friday, and taking the red eye back on Sunday night for arrival in sunny Rochester, NY on Halloween morning around 11AM. Granted, I've got a 4 hour layover in Chicago around 5AM, but, hey... I only paid $276. I can live with that. So here's the package... night out in Vegas on Friday, going to see the one and only, the great Jimmy Buffett on Saturday, bet on football all day on Sunday, fly all night/morning, and back to sunny Rochester. Would you pay $276 for that? Yeah, me too.
It's a good night tonight. Had a long but productive day at work, the Yankees are up 17-3 on Tampa Bay, and the flight finally got booked without me having to give up my first born child (providing there ever is one). So right now, resting in the solace of the corner apartment, I am watching Rock Star INXS and enjoying a lovely Beefeater martini, heavy on the olives. The reason for the latter is that lately I've been having enormous problems sleeping. I don't know if it's the stress of returning to work after 3 weeks off, if it's the stress of my mother re-marrying, or if it's just the cold hard reality that my life hasn't panned out the way I thought it would when I was 12. Nah... I've slept since age 12 a couple of times. Lately, though, at least for the past 3 nights, I've been tossing and turning until like 3:30AM... not cool when I have to wake up at 7. If I was tossing and turning with someone else until 3:30AM... yeah, that's cool. However, when I'm sleeping solo and look over at the clock and get pissed because I'm going to be a mess in about 3 hours, it's not real cool. Anyway, having said/written that... let's hope that the martini, in all it's wisdom, is able to alleviate my little problem. It better... I have to meet Janell at 9AM for work tomorrow and I really don't want to be a zombie.
Honestly, though, it does feel good to be back at work. As bizarre as this may seem, I actually feel good about actually earning my money. Don't get me wrong... I'd love to be independently wealthy and just write and play golf all day, but until my parents die, that's not going to happen. No, by the way, I don't want my parents to die. I had to go through the pain of watching the parents of my two best friends pass away, and I know it's a nightmare.
Anyway, back to this whole "my maturing" thing. The scary thing is that I'm actually considering buying a house, which seems to me like a very grown-up thing to do. The thing that I'm struggling with is that I feel like I'm really committing to Rochester if I do that... and you know how I feel about that "C" word. Yeah, it'd be nice to be paying my own mortgage instead of someone else's, but then again, I'll have all the hassles of ownership... mowing the lawn, keeping it clean, cleaning the gutters & buying a birdhouse. Who am I kidding... either this martini is doing it's job or I'm having a moment of clarity. My money's on the former.
Anyway, since I feel like the martini is doing it's job and I'm writing complete rubbish, I think I'm going to call it quits for tonight... got a long day tomorrow. Also, I haven't been getting the slew of emails that I usually get... just to refresh, my email address is here, and feel free to write to me about anything from how cops suck to something you'd like my take on.
For now, goodnight, and I'll try to write something remotely interesting tomorrow. Until then, thank you Beefeater... you are to be commended on a job well done.
Until next time...
R
It's a good night tonight. Had a long but productive day at work, the Yankees are up 17-3 on Tampa Bay, and the flight finally got booked without me having to give up my first born child (providing there ever is one). So right now, resting in the solace of the corner apartment, I am watching Rock Star INXS and enjoying a lovely Beefeater martini, heavy on the olives. The reason for the latter is that lately I've been having enormous problems sleeping. I don't know if it's the stress of returning to work after 3 weeks off, if it's the stress of my mother re-marrying, or if it's just the cold hard reality that my life hasn't panned out the way I thought it would when I was 12. Nah... I've slept since age 12 a couple of times. Lately, though, at least for the past 3 nights, I've been tossing and turning until like 3:30AM... not cool when I have to wake up at 7. If I was tossing and turning with someone else until 3:30AM... yeah, that's cool. However, when I'm sleeping solo and look over at the clock and get pissed because I'm going to be a mess in about 3 hours, it's not real cool. Anyway, having said/written that... let's hope that the martini, in all it's wisdom, is able to alleviate my little problem. It better... I have to meet Janell at 9AM for work tomorrow and I really don't want to be a zombie.
Honestly, though, it does feel good to be back at work. As bizarre as this may seem, I actually feel good about actually earning my money. Don't get me wrong... I'd love to be independently wealthy and just write and play golf all day, but until my parents die, that's not going to happen. No, by the way, I don't want my parents to die. I had to go through the pain of watching the parents of my two best friends pass away, and I know it's a nightmare.
Anyway, back to this whole "my maturing" thing. The scary thing is that I'm actually considering buying a house, which seems to me like a very grown-up thing to do. The thing that I'm struggling with is that I feel like I'm really committing to Rochester if I do that... and you know how I feel about that "C" word. Yeah, it'd be nice to be paying my own mortgage instead of someone else's, but then again, I'll have all the hassles of ownership... mowing the lawn, keeping it clean, cleaning the gutters & buying a birdhouse. Who am I kidding... either this martini is doing it's job or I'm having a moment of clarity. My money's on the former.
Anyway, since I feel like the martini is doing it's job and I'm writing complete rubbish, I think I'm going to call it quits for tonight... got a long day tomorrow. Also, I haven't been getting the slew of emails that I usually get... just to refresh, my email address is here, and feel free to write to me about anything from how cops suck to something you'd like my take on.
For now, goodnight, and I'll try to write something remotely interesting tomorrow. Until then, thank you Beefeater... you are to be commended on a job well done.
Until next time...
R
Monday, September 12, 2005
Memoirs of a Drunken Rock Star Poker Player
Once again... the latest.
Went out with the 5 Dog this weekend... drank way too much, came home, drunk dialed a few people, and lost $20 playing garbage hands in poker. I really need to cut down on drunk poker playing... I think it's becoming hazardous to my wealth.
Anyway, an insane night of debauchery. We pretty much went everywhere on Alexander St. & East Ave., and once again had the pleasure of checking out The Taint at A Street. Anthony offered to put me up on stage once again, but once again the Rychkid had a few too many cocktails and managed to decline... probably a good thing. Typically when I get a few in me, I tend to think I'm a rock star, however the stage legs feel quite the contrary. Now, you may find this hard to believe, but a couple times when I've had the honor of sharing the stage with my favorite local band... I've frozen like the proverbial deer in the headlights.
However, it doesn't end there. As much as we hated to do it, we wound up going to Soho for last call... well, 1AM, so, I guess, an hour before last call, but once again I had to stand in line with the drunken silk shirted hair gel mavens waiting to take a piss, so there's 20 minutes right there. At Soho, Paul Strowe was playing... the guy knows like 900 songs and he's way, way, way better than me. We started talking, and the drunken rock star decided it'd be a great idea to play a couple songs. Yeah, that didn't turn out as well as I saw that happening in my mind. I played "Patience" and "Brown Eyed Girl" and massacred them both. Think next time I'll stick with the alcohol and live out my rock star fantasies at home, alone, with a few Budweisers.
Regardless... on with the drama. I've been writing a lot lately about how my mom's pending nuptials are right around the corner, and the day is looming ever closer. Once again, I still don't know how I feel about that... still having the mixed feelings and all that bullshit. Be that as it may, I woke up on Sunday morning with a headache roughly the size of Rhode Island to the sounds of the theme from "The Magnificent Seven" emanating from my cell phone. I stumbled out of my room, saw that it was mom, opened it up, said, "what?", and lit a cigarette... all the while thinking, "there better be a God damn good reason for this call," until I looked at the clock and realized that it was, in fact, 3:00 in the afternoon. I guess the rest of the normal world doesn't have the respect for drunken late night poker players with a Jones for drunk dialing as I do. Either way, the reason for the call was that she wanted to know how things went with the hand job guy. If you don't know what I mean by "the hand job guy," you're going to have to read some of the earlier posts. Sorry, I'm not going to regurgitate that story again... although it does still make me laugh. Anyway, I told her my thumb was fine and that I was returning to work.
Now, here's the tricky part. I still don't know why this thought entered my mind or why I decided to ask her, but I did, knowing in my gut that I already had the answer.
First, let me preface this. A little while ago I wrote about how the love of my life got married a few weeks ago and how upsetting it was and all that lover's lament and bleeding heart crap. Her name's Beth, and her mother and my mother are pretty much best friends. Hence, that begs the question that I asked; "did you invite Beth?" Her response floored me. "Oh, yeah... of course." As if to say, "yeah, dipshit, I did... get over it." The rest of the conversation is as follows;
Mom: "Are you OK with that?"
Me: "Do I have a choice?"
Mom: "No."
Me: "Hey, it's your wedding."
Mom: "That's right, and she's been like a daughter to me."
Me: "I'll be fine."
Mom: "OK."
The thing is, I'm sure I will be fine. I think it's just going to be a bit of a gut check to see her with her new husband... and when I say "her," you may ask if I mean my mother or Beth. The truth is I don't know... a little from column A and a little from column B. See, I thought once Beth's wedding day was over, that would bring closure and I'd be fine... and I was right. Now, her showing up at my mother's wedding is just going to be a pain in the ass... as if it's not going to be a stressful enough day as is. I called my sister and talked to her about this little issue, and her solution was pretty simple. She said she was going to park her ass at the bar and that she'd meet me there. Sounds like a plan... that kind of thinking must run in the family.
Here's the thing, and I'm almost ashamed to say/write this because it almost seems like the mature thing to say, but... it doesn't matter. Whether or not I'm comfortable is immaterial. It's her day, and however the fuck comfortable I am or am not is of no consequence. I know this is so unlike my normal cynical-asshole-sarcastic-wiseass self, but that's the deal. Could it be that finally in my 34th year of life that I'm actually maturing? Jesus, I hope not. I thought it might be so for a minute, but then I re-read what I wrote earlier about going out, getting shit-faced and then playing poker until all hours of the morning. Never mind, I'm back. However, I do promise you, my loyal readers, that I won't create a scene, I won't be a wuss, I (probably) won't punch Beth's new husband in the throat, and I won't get drunk. Well, scratch that last one.
Honestly, I am fine with it... so I didn't lie to mom when I said that. After all, this whole debacle isn't about me and I know that. It's about my mom starting her new life with this guy and all that happy horseshit. I'm not going to write about that... this whole post is a little too sappy already, and for that I apologize.
Also, I must apologize because I've been a little blog lazy lately. This whole work thing is really getting in the way of my penchant for fucking off. You, my fans and loyal readers, have my word that I will try my very best to update more often. Until then, it's late and I'm still working. Well, waiting for my f'ing laptop to transmit so that I can do some more work.
Really, though, I do need to get to bed. I have some dreaming about being a rock star to do.
Until next time...
R
Went out with the 5 Dog this weekend... drank way too much, came home, drunk dialed a few people, and lost $20 playing garbage hands in poker. I really need to cut down on drunk poker playing... I think it's becoming hazardous to my wealth.
Anyway, an insane night of debauchery. We pretty much went everywhere on Alexander St. & East Ave., and once again had the pleasure of checking out The Taint at A Street. Anthony offered to put me up on stage once again, but once again the Rychkid had a few too many cocktails and managed to decline... probably a good thing. Typically when I get a few in me, I tend to think I'm a rock star, however the stage legs feel quite the contrary. Now, you may find this hard to believe, but a couple times when I've had the honor of sharing the stage with my favorite local band... I've frozen like the proverbial deer in the headlights.
However, it doesn't end there. As much as we hated to do it, we wound up going to Soho for last call... well, 1AM, so, I guess, an hour before last call, but once again I had to stand in line with the drunken silk shirted hair gel mavens waiting to take a piss, so there's 20 minutes right there. At Soho, Paul Strowe was playing... the guy knows like 900 songs and he's way, way, way better than me. We started talking, and the drunken rock star decided it'd be a great idea to play a couple songs. Yeah, that didn't turn out as well as I saw that happening in my mind. I played "Patience" and "Brown Eyed Girl" and massacred them both. Think next time I'll stick with the alcohol and live out my rock star fantasies at home, alone, with a few Budweisers.
Regardless... on with the drama. I've been writing a lot lately about how my mom's pending nuptials are right around the corner, and the day is looming ever closer. Once again, I still don't know how I feel about that... still having the mixed feelings and all that bullshit. Be that as it may, I woke up on Sunday morning with a headache roughly the size of Rhode Island to the sounds of the theme from "The Magnificent Seven" emanating from my cell phone. I stumbled out of my room, saw that it was mom, opened it up, said, "what?", and lit a cigarette... all the while thinking, "there better be a God damn good reason for this call," until I looked at the clock and realized that it was, in fact, 3:00 in the afternoon. I guess the rest of the normal world doesn't have the respect for drunken late night poker players with a Jones for drunk dialing as I do. Either way, the reason for the call was that she wanted to know how things went with the hand job guy. If you don't know what I mean by "the hand job guy," you're going to have to read some of the earlier posts. Sorry, I'm not going to regurgitate that story again... although it does still make me laugh. Anyway, I told her my thumb was fine and that I was returning to work.
Now, here's the tricky part. I still don't know why this thought entered my mind or why I decided to ask her, but I did, knowing in my gut that I already had the answer.
First, let me preface this. A little while ago I wrote about how the love of my life got married a few weeks ago and how upsetting it was and all that lover's lament and bleeding heart crap. Her name's Beth, and her mother and my mother are pretty much best friends. Hence, that begs the question that I asked; "did you invite Beth?" Her response floored me. "Oh, yeah... of course." As if to say, "yeah, dipshit, I did... get over it." The rest of the conversation is as follows;
Mom: "Are you OK with that?"
Me: "Do I have a choice?"
Mom: "No."
Me: "Hey, it's your wedding."
Mom: "That's right, and she's been like a daughter to me."
Me: "I'll be fine."
Mom: "OK."
The thing is, I'm sure I will be fine. I think it's just going to be a bit of a gut check to see her with her new husband... and when I say "her," you may ask if I mean my mother or Beth. The truth is I don't know... a little from column A and a little from column B. See, I thought once Beth's wedding day was over, that would bring closure and I'd be fine... and I was right. Now, her showing up at my mother's wedding is just going to be a pain in the ass... as if it's not going to be a stressful enough day as is. I called my sister and talked to her about this little issue, and her solution was pretty simple. She said she was going to park her ass at the bar and that she'd meet me there. Sounds like a plan... that kind of thinking must run in the family.
Here's the thing, and I'm almost ashamed to say/write this because it almost seems like the mature thing to say, but... it doesn't matter. Whether or not I'm comfortable is immaterial. It's her day, and however the fuck comfortable I am or am not is of no consequence. I know this is so unlike my normal cynical-asshole-sarcastic-wiseass self, but that's the deal. Could it be that finally in my 34th year of life that I'm actually maturing? Jesus, I hope not. I thought it might be so for a minute, but then I re-read what I wrote earlier about going out, getting shit-faced and then playing poker until all hours of the morning. Never mind, I'm back. However, I do promise you, my loyal readers, that I won't create a scene, I won't be a wuss, I (probably) won't punch Beth's new husband in the throat, and I won't get drunk. Well, scratch that last one.
Honestly, I am fine with it... so I didn't lie to mom when I said that. After all, this whole debacle isn't about me and I know that. It's about my mom starting her new life with this guy and all that happy horseshit. I'm not going to write about that... this whole post is a little too sappy already, and for that I apologize.
Also, I must apologize because I've been a little blog lazy lately. This whole work thing is really getting in the way of my penchant for fucking off. You, my fans and loyal readers, have my word that I will try my very best to update more often. Until then, it's late and I'm still working. Well, waiting for my f'ing laptop to transmit so that I can do some more work.
Really, though, I do need to get to bed. I have some dreaming about being a rock star to do.
Until next time...
R
Wednesday, September 07, 2005
Work, Mom & Frankendeb
Well... it's happened... I've been cleared to return to work. I went to see the hand job guy (that still makes me laugh, by the way) and he took away the guard thingy that I had on it, and told me that (get this) I should rub my thumb on different textures. The reason for this is that when something in your body gets, as he put it, crushed, that your brain pretty much shuts down communication with whatever it is. So, yes, ladies and gentlemen, the assignment from the hand job guy until the next time I see him in 4 weeks is this; to rub my thumb on things. It's a lot of fun. No, really.
The bad news is that I now have to get back into the routine of getting up at 7AM every morning, which is going to be no small feat... seeing as I've been sleeping enough over the past few weeks to pretty much catch up on all the sleep that I missed during college, and the fact that I've been drinking enough to make Dean Martin vomit. The main thing that I'm bummed out about is that during the past 3 weeks of not working, I didn't do a damn thing. I pretty much stayed home and watched TV, played about 1,500 hands of online poker, and drank way too much. Regardless, after the hand job guy gave me my "return to work without restrictions" note, I called HR and left a message. They're supposed to get back to me within 24 hours, but who knows. The nuts and bolts of this thing is that my first day back will more than likely be this Friday.
The thing that is going to suck is this; in about 2 weeks, I'll be saying, "I really fucking need a vacation." It's gonna be that whole "don't know what you got 'til it's gone" thing. Son of a bitch. Although right now, again, I'm pretty fucking anxious to get back to work.
Anyway, the thing that's been on my mind the most lately is the fact that my mother's getting married a month from tomorrow. I got the invitation in the mail today. Now, really... did she have to send me an invitation? It's not like I'm going to get a phone call in a couple months saying, "hey, where were you for that whole wedding thing?" Yeah, mom, news flash... I know you're getting married again and I know where and when. I talk to her about twice a week, so I'm pretty sure she's clued me in about 900 times.
Regardless, I'm happy for her. The guy is really nice and he treats her well and all that happy horse shit. Seriously, I am happy for her. The one thing that I'm concerned about is my father. I know he is still in love with my mother, and I also know that it's going to be a dark day for him when she's got somebody else's last name. Who knows, though? Maybe this will give him some closure, and he can stop dating the bitch on wheels that he's been dating for the past few years. Did I say bitch on wheels? Sorry... that's not really her name. It's Deb. What I meant to say was Frankendeb. Yeah... pretty sure I don't like this broad. Why don't I like this broad, you may ask? Well... I won't give you the whole laundry list of complaints that I have... just suffice it to say that she's completely classless and has a stupid haircut. Then again, I don't have to date her. Neither does he, but I guess I'm a lot more out of her date range than he is. He's right on the front lines... poor bastard.
I guess if he really wanted to get out of that relationship, he would. He could follow in his son's footsteps and become a serial dater. That's pretty much what I've started to consider myself after the past few relationships I've been through. I know I don't really write much about them here, and there's a reason for that, but leave it at this; I have dated a lot of women. A few days ago, I wrote something about a girl and my relationship with her, but took it down a few hours later because I didn't feel good about it. I don't think it's fair because she doesn't write anything about me or what a pain in the ass it is to date me.
Anyway, I hope he figures it out for himself and that he one day finds himself in a relationship in which he's actually happy... not shackled like he is now. Jesus, the guy might as well be wearing a shock collar. As for me, if the day rolls around where he's actually sold on the idea of being Mr. Frankendeb... ugh... I don't even want to think about it. I think I'd rather grind off my nipples with a belt sander while chewing a mouthful of Dennis Rodman's toenails. How's that for a lovely mental image? My work here is done.
Well, kids... time for me to sign off. Gotta go load up my minivan with the things to go back to work... wonder if I could rub my thumb on the car and consider it physical therapy.
Until next time...
R
The bad news is that I now have to get back into the routine of getting up at 7AM every morning, which is going to be no small feat... seeing as I've been sleeping enough over the past few weeks to pretty much catch up on all the sleep that I missed during college, and the fact that I've been drinking enough to make Dean Martin vomit. The main thing that I'm bummed out about is that during the past 3 weeks of not working, I didn't do a damn thing. I pretty much stayed home and watched TV, played about 1,500 hands of online poker, and drank way too much. Regardless, after the hand job guy gave me my "return to work without restrictions" note, I called HR and left a message. They're supposed to get back to me within 24 hours, but who knows. The nuts and bolts of this thing is that my first day back will more than likely be this Friday.
The thing that is going to suck is this; in about 2 weeks, I'll be saying, "I really fucking need a vacation." It's gonna be that whole "don't know what you got 'til it's gone" thing. Son of a bitch. Although right now, again, I'm pretty fucking anxious to get back to work.
Anyway, the thing that's been on my mind the most lately is the fact that my mother's getting married a month from tomorrow. I got the invitation in the mail today. Now, really... did she have to send me an invitation? It's not like I'm going to get a phone call in a couple months saying, "hey, where were you for that whole wedding thing?" Yeah, mom, news flash... I know you're getting married again and I know where and when. I talk to her about twice a week, so I'm pretty sure she's clued me in about 900 times.
Regardless, I'm happy for her. The guy is really nice and he treats her well and all that happy horse shit. Seriously, I am happy for her. The one thing that I'm concerned about is my father. I know he is still in love with my mother, and I also know that it's going to be a dark day for him when she's got somebody else's last name. Who knows, though? Maybe this will give him some closure, and he can stop dating the bitch on wheels that he's been dating for the past few years. Did I say bitch on wheels? Sorry... that's not really her name. It's Deb. What I meant to say was Frankendeb. Yeah... pretty sure I don't like this broad. Why don't I like this broad, you may ask? Well... I won't give you the whole laundry list of complaints that I have... just suffice it to say that she's completely classless and has a stupid haircut. Then again, I don't have to date her. Neither does he, but I guess I'm a lot more out of her date range than he is. He's right on the front lines... poor bastard.
I guess if he really wanted to get out of that relationship, he would. He could follow in his son's footsteps and become a serial dater. That's pretty much what I've started to consider myself after the past few relationships I've been through. I know I don't really write much about them here, and there's a reason for that, but leave it at this; I have dated a lot of women. A few days ago, I wrote something about a girl and my relationship with her, but took it down a few hours later because I didn't feel good about it. I don't think it's fair because she doesn't write anything about me or what a pain in the ass it is to date me.
Anyway, I hope he figures it out for himself and that he one day finds himself in a relationship in which he's actually happy... not shackled like he is now. Jesus, the guy might as well be wearing a shock collar. As for me, if the day rolls around where he's actually sold on the idea of being Mr. Frankendeb... ugh... I don't even want to think about it. I think I'd rather grind off my nipples with a belt sander while chewing a mouthful of Dennis Rodman's toenails. How's that for a lovely mental image? My work here is done.
Well, kids... time for me to sign off. Gotta go load up my minivan with the things to go back to work... wonder if I could rub my thumb on the car and consider it physical therapy.
Until next time...
R
Sunday, September 04, 2005
Confusion and The Shawshank Redemption
Hey TNT... The Shawshank Redemption is a good movie. I get it. You don't have to play it every 15 minutes.
The latest is I once again roused myself from bed sometime around 2:00 in the afternoon today... not good. The reason it's not good is this; I will more than likely be returning to work this week, and getting up at 7AM again is going to be something I'll need to get used to again, but I guess all that really depends on the hand job guy. That still makes me laugh. Don't get me wrong... it's not like I haven't been working, just not in the conventional sense of the word. I haven't been out seeing clients and doing the work that I'm actually paid to do, but I've typed about a zillion words on this stupid site. Go ahead... bookmark me. It's O.K., really.
Honestly, you would think that a little 3 week getaway from work would be awesome. Hell, when I left the hand job guy's office I was kind of psyched... I can sleep in, watch TV, do pretty much whatever now that I don't have the work shackles securing me to my world of paperwork, store owners and a minivan. What I didn't immediately realize was the simple fact that there's not a whole lot that I can do with a broken and extremely painful thumb. You wouldn't believe how much you miss your thumb when you can't use it. I can't hold a golf club, I can't shoot hoops, I can't play PS2... anyway, suffice it to say I am actually looking forward to getting back to work, believe it or not.
For now, I gotta run... Andy Dufrane is just about to crawl through 500 yards of raw sewage. I can't bring myself to miss that.
Until next time...
R
The latest is I once again roused myself from bed sometime around 2:00 in the afternoon today... not good. The reason it's not good is this; I will more than likely be returning to work this week, and getting up at 7AM again is going to be something I'll need to get used to again, but I guess all that really depends on the hand job guy. That still makes me laugh. Don't get me wrong... it's not like I haven't been working, just not in the conventional sense of the word. I haven't been out seeing clients and doing the work that I'm actually paid to do, but I've typed about a zillion words on this stupid site. Go ahead... bookmark me. It's O.K., really.
Honestly, you would think that a little 3 week getaway from work would be awesome. Hell, when I left the hand job guy's office I was kind of psyched... I can sleep in, watch TV, do pretty much whatever now that I don't have the work shackles securing me to my world of paperwork, store owners and a minivan. What I didn't immediately realize was the simple fact that there's not a whole lot that I can do with a broken and extremely painful thumb. You wouldn't believe how much you miss your thumb when you can't use it. I can't hold a golf club, I can't shoot hoops, I can't play PS2... anyway, suffice it to say I am actually looking forward to getting back to work, believe it or not.
For now, I gotta run... Andy Dufrane is just about to crawl through 500 yards of raw sewage. I can't bring myself to miss that.
Until next time...
R
Saturday, September 03, 2005
Doing my little part
To all my loyal readers... with gas prices eclipsing the $3 mark, I found a site that will tell you the cheapest gas prices in Rochester and where they are. The link is here... hope it helps save you a couple bucks.
Happy Birthday, Russ... now, anyone got Tylenol?
Good God... It's 3:04 PM on Saturday, and I just woke up... just a little bit of a hangover from last night's festivities. I woke up this afternoon and my liver was sitting next to me having a cup of coffee saying, "thanks a lot, asshole." If you hadn't heard, me and the boys took Russ out for his birthday... had a hard time getting into my apartment because I think I drank it. Wow... haven't had that much to drink since my birthday. Anyway, in the glorious tradition of my literary endeavors... here, in photos, is the course of events that took place last night.
The plan was to meet at Woody's at 9:30 and get started there. I showed up at about 9:50 and was the only one... everybody else turned out to be late too. Regardless... a couple cocktails went by, and everyone showed up around 10:15 or so, which was fine because it gave me a little bit of a head start on my alcoholic haze that I planned to strap on for the night... and strap it on I did. Anyway... a couple more cocktails and we headed over to the Alexander Street Pub. My favorite Rochester band, The Taint, was playing. It's always good to see those guys. Check them out if you get the ch
ance. 
The plan was to meet at Woody's at 9:30 and get started there. I showed up at about 9:50 and was the only one... everybody else turned out to be late too. Regardless... a couple cocktails went by, and everyone showed up around 10:15 or so, which was fine because it gave me a little bit of a head start on my alcoholic haze that I planned to strap on for the night... and strap it on I did. Anyway... a couple more cocktails and we headed over to the Alexander Street Pub. My favorite Rochester band, The Taint, was playing. It's always good to see those guys. Check them out if you get the ch
ance. 
The bass player in the red shirt is my buddy Anthony... used to work with him in a former life. Good stuff... every now and again they'll let me live out my rock star fantasies and get up on stage. Pretty cool. The link to their website is above.
Alas, last night I didn't have the pleasure of my alter ego getting up on stage. Instead, we hung out and watched the band for a while, then retreated out to the deck for a couple more cocktails. It was a really nice night out... about 70*, no rain (surprisingly), and the booze is flowing, cigarettes are burning, and the Rychkid's mouth is running. I asked a girl to snap a quick picture of us, she agreed, and then pointed to a dimple in her chin and said, "we're twins," referring to the fact that I too have a dimple in my chin. Now, folks, I don't know if that was an invitation to conversation or not, but, sadly, I did not engage. Maybe if I did I'd have more to write about. Anyway, she took a couple shots of us, and here they are.
From Alexander Street, we made our way, once again, to Soho. I have to put this in because I thought it was pretty funny... let me start by saying this; Russ hates smoking, and I am a smoker. We're standing outside at the bar, I pull out a cigarette, screw it into my lips, and proceed to light up... aah... flavor country. Russ promptly grabs it out of my mouth, throws it to the ground and stomps it out. I gave him my standard really-confused-what-the-fuck-was-that look, whipped out my camera and actually took a picture of him doing this. Nice shoes, by the way.
Anyway, on with the show. Soho's fun... I like it, but it would be a tremendously wise investment to put another fucking bathroom in that joint. Jesus, every time I have to take a piss, I pretty much have to plan an hour in advance. I have to fight my way through this crowd of drunken morons with silk shirts and enough gel in their hair to grease a Ferrari, then wait in line with 30 other assholes, half of which are just going in to check the mirror, finally take a piss, then fight my way out through the aforementioned drunken, silk shirted morons, and find my friends all over again. Then, I have to attempt to re-join the conversation, and now I'm lost. I think next time I plan to go there, I'm going to go to the doctor the day before and get fitted with a colostomy bag. Of course, then it's going to be even more difficult to talk to women, what with carrying around a piece of luggage filled with my own urine. The other side of that coin is that it'd probably be a great conversation piece. Hmmm... decisions, decisions.
But I digress... here's a few more shots from the night. Ugh... did someone just say shots?
Russ, doing his very best drunken goldfish impression.
Can anyone tell that I've had a few hundred too many in this pic?
Nick, the 5 Dog & me... more game than Parker Brothers.
Todd, Nick & Russ... the boys. 
Anyway... a damn good night. Hope you had a good birthday, Russ. My liver thanks you.
So, that's it for now. I think I might need to park it on the couch for a while, or maybe do a little online shopping... I'm running low on silk shirts and gel.
Until next time...
R
Thursday, September 01, 2005
Hippopotami Love Noodles
A little mid-day cheerer upper, for my friend in the windy city. It doesn't make a whole lot of sense, but it is a darn amusing little song. Enjoy, and I hope your day gets better. Click here.
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